Comfortably Numb
by Verin Mystal
Summary: America has gotten drunk. The problem? He gets really uncontrollable with his physical strength. Those with him decide to lay this problem on the only one who can physically control him: Russia. Who wasn't even in their little drunken party.
1. Chapter 1

**Comfortably Numb**  
**By: Verin Mystal  
Summary: **America has gotten drunk. The problem? He gets really uncontrollable with his physical strength. Those with him decide to lay this problem on the only one who can physically control him: Russia. Who wasn't even in their little drunken party.  
**Note:** Written for the Kinkmeme at LiveJournal.

* * *

Spring/Early 1990s

The car jolted at a pothole in the road, jarring America awake.

"_Hey_…what happened to the bar?"

"Bollocks. He woke up. That shot you gave him wasn't strong enough, _Prussia_. And its pub, **not** bar."

"But-…_but_… I didn't wanna go yet…"

America reached for the door handle.

"Well, thanks to _you_-"

The car jolted again, throwing everyone forward.

"_Merde_- must you hit **every** pot hole?" France smacked Prussia in the shoulder and clutched his forehead.

"Not my fault Russia's roads aren't as _awesome_ as-!"

"_Bloody __**fucking**__ hell_- get your hands off that!" England leaned across America's lap and tried prying his fingers from the door handle.

"I told you to watch him!" Prussia shouted from the driver's seat. "This is West's priceless Mercedes-Benz 300s Roadster from 1954!"*

"Well at least _I_ am not the one who _borrowed_ it while Germany was at the beach with Northern Italy." England growled through clenched teeth. "Alfred- _damnit_, stop being a cock-up and let it _go_-!" America's fingers came away from the handle with a thud. The metal handle was crunched, showing four finger indentations.

"…Well. At least it's only the door handle."

"_What_?" Prussia's voice rose several decibels. "Do you realize what West is going to do when he finds out?"

"It's only a door handle." France waved his hand in the air at Prussia. "Little Germany can handle a door handle."

"No. _No_. You don't understand. He's going to _fucking kill me_."

America rolled over in the seat to face England.

"…cock-up…?"

America leaned in close to England's face, staring at him a moment before collapsing to his lap and wrapping his arms around England's waist. "Why didn't you tell me you had problems with getting your cock up?"

"Get _off_ me you little shite!" England turned a brilliant angry red and shoved America away, who lunged back into his lap, curling his arms around England's waist like a vice. "Fucking _hell_!"

"Mmm…I didn't seem to have a problem getting it up last night."

"_France_- If you don't shut your mouth **right fucking now**-"

Prussia fell into laughter, his chest heaving for air.

"It's _okay_ England." America pressed his face into England's gut, breathing deeply. "…you smell like moldy books."

"_Alfred F. Jones_-"

"I like moldy books." America tightened his vice-like grip and settled himself into England's lap.

England turned pink and trembled in anger, his fingers digging into the younger nation's shoulders. France turned around in his seat to view the spectacle.

"I think it's _actually_ calming him down. Do you think we can bottle your smell and use it on him the next time he has a melt-down?"

"I hate you."

The car screeched to a halt, throwing everyone forward.

"Why not just roll the window down and throw him out?" England snapped, glaring at Prussia. "Warn us next time you slam the bloody breaks on."

"Are you sure this is his home?" France exited, slamming his door shut and opening America's passenger door.

"I just moved back from his house." Prussia grumbled, slamming his door shut as well and walked around the car to stand beside France.

"It seems greener than usual." France leaned in and gripped America by the armpits. "He must have worked on his yard."

"It's fucking May, France." England slurred while prying America's arms from around his waist.

"…C'est des conneries." France complained. "It must be 15 degrees outside right now. How can this be _spring_?"*

"Hurry up, I don't want _him_ to wake up with us still here." Prussia grabbed America's legs.

"Are… are we home?" America asked finally, his voice slurring as England forced his arms from around his waist. "Dun' tell Tony nothin'…"

"You're not home." England responded after a moment, while France and Prussia dragged him from the backseat of the car. "You wanted to visit someone else, remember?"

America blinked slowly and felt his bare feet touch the frozen ground. His face scrunched, toes curled, a loud whine emanating from his rosy lips.

"Mnnn…! Cold~" He gripped the door frame and his fingers crunched through the metal.

Prussia nearly shrieked, dropping America's legs and slapping him upside the head while gripping his arm.

"**Fuck** would you stop breaking shit on West's car?"

"Ta Gueule!" France hissed at Prussia, who finally yanked America's arm away from the car. "If you wake him up-"

"Wake who up?" America finally collapsed to the ground, laying still for a moment before his face scrunched up again. "Cold~~~!" He reached for the car again.

England slid across the leather seats, nearly falling on his ass as his legs didn't seem to be working correctly, and shut the car door behind him.

"Help me pick him up." England looped one arm under America's armpit. France took the slack, takeing America's other shoulder. Together they heaved America upward with a grunt and slowly made their way to the front porch.

America giggled suddenly and kicked his legs. "Mmm…this's nice. You should...carry me a lot."

"Not if you keep getting heavier." France grunted, and the two of them unceremoniously dumped America on the front porch.

"What now?" England grated, and reached for a flask at his waist. "I'm not drunk enough to do this shite anymore."

"I need paper." Prussia yanked a pen from his pocket. "Give me some from that black book, France."

England paused. "Black book?"

"What book?" France asked. "I don't-"

America groped France's ass, tugging out a delicate black leather book with several tabs sticking out the side. Grinning, America waved it at England, a throaty giggle escaping his lips. England stared at the book a moment as if it were a strange foreign object, and then reared a deadly glare at France.

"That one. I'm gonna tear a page out." Prussia yanked the book from America's flailing hands and scribbled on a page, tearing it out. "Here."

France hesitated a moment, glancing to England before plucking the book from Prussia's hand. "Ah yes…this one. It's just my address book."

"Your _address_ book."

"Yes. For addresses."

America giggled hysterically at them.

Prussia took a safety pin from his ragged black jeans and pinned the note to America's red shirt.

"Ah. Brilliant. An _address_ book." England deadpanned. "Since when do you need a _bloody_ address book when you know where all of us live?"

"Ah, but I am an older nation and sometimes my memory escapes me."

"Oh. Really?" England raised his flask and took a swipe at France's head. "Fucking crock of _shite_!"

France laughed and danced away, the haze of alcohol still lingering. America hiccuped, momentarily pausing his fit of giggles before it took control once again.

Prussia eyed his handiwork and nodded. "Payback time, Russia."

He jabbed his finger into the doorbell button multiple times and raced to the car.

"Get in!" Prussia whispered fiercely. "Before he comes out!"

France escaped into the front seat while England crashed into the back, slamming the car door behind him.

The car peeled out, roaring down the street and disappearing into the distance.

* * *

Notes:  
**  
That shot you gave him wasn't strong enough, **_**Prussia**_ - The "shot" refers to an alcohol shot. Not a drug.

**"This is West's priceless Mercedes-Benz 300s Roadster from 1954!"** – http(colon)/ www(dot)pbase(dot)com /rpdoody/image/110116922

**It must be 15 degrees outside right now** - This is in Celsius. For Americans [like me], it's equal to 59 degrees Fahrenheit.

French Translations (From ):

Merde – Shit

C'est des conneries - Can be translated best as "this is bullshit."

Ta Gueule – Shut up/Shut the fuck up/shut your trap/etc


	2. Chapter 2

**Comfortably Numb**  
**By: Verin Mystal  
Summary: **America has gotten drunk. The problem? He gets really uncontrollable with his physical strength. Those with him decide to lay this problem on the only one who can physically control him: Russia. Who wasn't even in their little drunken party.  
**Note:** Written for the Kinkmeme at LiveJournal.

* * *

The incessant ringing of his doorbell was what woke him up. Eyelids peeling back from his bloodshot violet eyes, he stared at the ceiling and pressed his lips together.

His day had been spent in the office with paperwork and meetings with his boss. There was a lot of work to be done after the fall of…well…_him_. He wanted to help his struggling people in any way he could. Exhausted, he stumbled in close to midnight and all but collapsed into his bed fully dressed, just barely covering himself before falling unconscious.

The sound of tires squealing shattered the blissfully calm night air.

Sleep called to him, lulling him back into its arms, weaving its layers around him one by one. His eyelids fell shut automatically. His bed sucked him into its comforting depths.

A knock sounded downstairs.

He loved his people, regardless of age, race, looks… they were all dear to him, as it was with all nations. But only the damnable teenagers really seemed to try his patience, now paper thin _no thanks to a certain nation that was unbearably young, blond and too strong for his own good._ Grinding his teeth together, he peeled his spine from the mattress and shifted his legs over the side of the bed. His booted feet sounded headily on the floor, and he walked slowly, steadily down the stairs to the front door.

The tentative knocking turned into a scratching, as if a cat were frozen and desperately clawing at the door for warmth. Unlocking the door, he twisted the handle, put on his best _I'm going to beat you with my pipe and enjoy it_ look and opened the door.

"_Hey_… Russia!"

America smiled and tried standing, but his legs failed him and he collapsed to the porch.

"Help me…into my house?"

Russia glared at him sleepily, his hair tangled and scruffy.

America curled his legs and rolled onto his side. "It's…fuckin' cold man…bring me in…"

"What are you _doing here_."

It was more of a demand than a question.

"Ahm…at my house."

"This is _my_ house."

"But…_but_… they said…"

America turned, revealing the note pinned to his chest. Russia stared at it for a moment, determining whether he should shut the door in America's face and go back to bed _as America deserved a little pain once in a while to help develop his character_, or give into that incessant, nagging voice piercing away at his exhausted temperament. Honestly, sometimes he wished his elder sister never raised him with manners. Going through the motions for the thousandth time got tiring after a while.

Against his better judgment, Russia crossed the threshold and tore the note from the pin, leaving it still fastened to his shirt, thought better, and removed the pin. Didn't want America playing with it in his current state of mind, as who knows what drunken stupidity he was capable of. The note was written in crude, barely legible Russian.

_For all the bullshit I've put up with for the last half century, here's a fucking present to make your night more enjoyable._

_The Awesome Me_

Russia frowned and crumpled the letter into a ball, throwing it to the concrete of his front porch. He made a quick mental note to pay Prussia a _visit_ after he dealt with the wasted America rolling on his front porch.

"It's…really cold man…" America half crawled, half rolled across the porch to the doorway. "Help…help me _inside_." He grabbed the door frame and squeezed. The old, weather beaten wood gave way under his fingers, splintering and shattering. "Come _on_~~"

Russia gripped America's wrist and tore it from the door frame, more awake thanks to the sudden wave of irritation and alarm at America destroying his property.

"Get up." Russia demanded thickly, his skills in speaking English rapidly declining with each exhaustive second.

"Mmm…dun wanna…" America smiled and wiggled his fingers. "Carry me in~…"

He ground his teeth together and leveled a cold glare at the younger nation.

"I'm _not_ carrying you."

America made a desperate sound again, twisting his back and half giggling, half chuckling. Russia silently counted to ten and crouched, looping an arm under America's armpits and hefting him up to his feet. America's legs crumpled instantly, and he wrapped his arm's around Russia in a desperate hug to keep his head from cracking open against the concrete. Russia gripped him in surprise.

A hysterical giggle suddenly erupted from America.

"_What_?" Russia asked through clenched teeth and struggled to get them both through the doorway before slamming it shut with his foot.

"…Yer huggin' me."

The urge to smash something with his pipe started rising. Summing up what was left of his patience, he half-carried, half-dragged America down the hall, through the kitchen and into the living room where he dumped America onto the sofa.

"Sleep here." Russia stated, and as an afterthought, he added, "If you vomit on anything, you're buying me new furniture."

"But-but wait-…" America grabbed the front of his long-sleeved shirt, yanked Russia towards him with such force he nearly lost his footing, and wound his arms around Russia's waist. "Dun leave-…you-"

Russia grabbed his arms and started prying them from around his hips. America whined and buried his face into Russia's belly, causing a faint pink tinge to dust elder nation's pale skin.

"America." Russia growled. "Let go."

"Yer…_house_…the **thingies** will get me."

Russia paused and tried making sense of what America just said.

"America…what is this…'thingies'?"

After receiving no answer, Russia gripped his shoulders and shook them. "America, let go of me-"

America peeled his pink face away and leveled a half-lidded, alcoholic-glazed stare at Russia with a smug, secretive grin slowly splitting his face apart.

"You have a pudgy tummy." America barely uttered before he started giggling.

"I do _not_!" Russia shouted infuriatingly, gripped America's shoulders and tried pushing him away. "I'm big boned!"

America giggled hysterically and clung him like super-glue.

"Let **go**!" Russia growled through clenched teeth.

"Noo~ dun wanna~~.." America gasped through his giggling.

Russia gave a mighty shove, surprising America and momentarily causing his hands to slide around him, dragging his fingers across his sides, before they shot around him once more.

Laughter bubbled up Russia's throat the moment the fingers grazed across his sides, and Russia forced the giggles away abruptly. His face blushed pink now, obviously embarrassed despite the angry, violet-eyed glare he leveled at America.

America stopped giggling and stared at Russia for a long moment before a hysterical grin appeared.

"…Yer ticklish."

"I am not."

"Are too." America bit his lower lip. "I heard you."

"No you didn't-"

America dug his fingers into Russia's sides, causing an abrupt giggle to erupt past his lips.

"Hah!" America shouted. "I knew it-!"

Russia grabbed America by the shoulders, shoved him away and into the couch. "I am not." He growled, his face an angry red. "And if you lie and tell anyone else about this, I'll take you to the most haunted building in my land and lock you up inside for an entire night. Understand?"

America abruptly stopped giggling and stared at Russia. A slow shiver took hold and his eyes started growling glassy.

"…Ah…wait…" Russia gawked at him. "Are…are you going to _cry_?"

"N-no!"

America peeled his arms from Russia's waist, planted them on his chest and shoved him off, sending him into the coffee table where it split down the center, cracking neatly in half. America turned away and buried his face into the sofa, curling into a fetal position. Russia lay in the demolished remains of his coffee table and stared at the ceiling.

It was going to be a long night.


	3. Chapter 3

**Comfortably Numb**  
**By: Verin Mystal  
Summary: **America has gotten drunk. The problem? He gets really uncontrollable with his physical strength. Those with him decide to lay this problem on the only one who can physically control him: Russia. Who wasn't even in their little drunken party.  
**Note:** Written for a request at the Kinkmeme at LiveJournal.

* * *

Russia finally picked himself up from what was left of his coffee table and stared at America. Still curled into a fetal position, he buried his face into the crack of the sofa, the muscles of his back, arms and legs all tense.

"You… are afraid of ghosts?"

America. The man he'd witnessed on more than one occasion during the last world war firing artillery and driving the M4 Sherman tank through all obstacles, bullets whistling past, laughing manically, his eyes blazing with such fervor that it surprised even himself… was afraid of ghosts.

He couldn't help but blush at the memory.

"M'not!" America half-shouted, half-slurred into the sofa. "Ahm not…afraid. Ahm not…"

Russia raised an eyebrow. So America was afraid of ghosts. That was news to him.

"Everyone is afraid of something." Russia tried reasoning, exhaustion overriding his previous anger. "You don't have to be ashamed."

America finally turned over to glare at him. "Ahm not fuckin'…as…ash-"

"Ashamed."

"Yeah… _that_. Whatever…that is…yeah." America tried sitting up, but collapsed back into the couch. "Help… me up?"

Russia stared down at him for a long moment. He hummed thoughtfully and slid his hands into the pockets of his jacket he still wore.

"…No."

America's face twisted into confused frustration.

"But why~~?"

"Because you're sleeping on the couch."

"But-_but_-!"

"I thought you said you weren't afraid of ghosts?"

America's mouth opened and closed. He finally raised his hands to him, wiggling his fingers in the air.

"_But_…the **thingies**-!"

Russia's eye twitched as he reached up to rub at his temples.

"**What** are you _talking_ about, Ameri_ka_?"

America stared at him, his lips pressing together until they stretched into a smirk.

"Your accent gets…shtronger when you get angry."

Russia turned around and started walking out of the room.

"No-_wait_-!"

America threw himself from the couch and caught Russia by the ankle.

"Dun _leave_ me-…"

"Let _go_ of me, Amerika."

"Ahm not lettin' you go…until you bring me…with you." America slurred, pausing at random moments to collect his foggy thoughts.

Russia seethed down at him, his violet eyes nearly glowing with irritation.

"I'm not bringing you upstairs."

"…Why?"

"Because you're drunk." Russia started, counting off the reasons on his fingers. "Because you can't walk. Because I refuse to carry you. Because you could throw up. Because-…"

"Okay-_okay_-! Jezzus…" America glared at him. "I just…dinna…wanna be alone."

Russia glared at him. So he wasn't used to sleeping alone? Always had a warm body next to him? A curl of jealous anger filled his chest. He turned away, his coat fluttering behind him.

"I'm sure you can handle one night sleeping _alone_."

He tried jerking his foot away when the hand clenching his ankle suddenly tightened.

"S' not like that." America whined, his voice still holding the warm glaze of alcohol. "You…always turn away. N'…show me your back."

Russia paused in his effort of tearing his ankle from the other's grasp. Confusion filled him at America's words.

"Always watchin'… always… wantin' to say somethin'…but…" America slurred into the carpet. "You always…showed me your back."

He finally turned around to stare at America in confusion.

"What?"

"Tired…of being alone." America clenched his ankle painfully. "Tired of watchin' you."

Russia stared down at him and tried making sense of the half-slurred, half muttered words.

"Dun' wanna watch you anymore." America heaved a gasp. "Dun' wanna be alone anymore."

Eyes narrowing, Russia crouched and started prying America's hand from his ankle.

"Noo~…" America whined, trying to keep his fingers locked around him. "Dun make me let go… dun wanna stay alone…"

"America-…" Russia finally tore his hand away, gripped his shoulders and forced America off the ground and back onto his rear. Surprise flushed through him. "You're _crying_?"

"M' not cryin'!" America planted his hands on Russia's chest and tried shoving him away. "Fuckin' go 'way!"

Russia was prepared for the shove this time, and instead clenched his hands around America's shoulders, keeping him firmly in place.

"America-"

"_Fuck_ you." America spat through his tears. "Always makin' me… and… fuckin'…tired of watching you go 'way-"

"I'm not going anywhere, America."

"Fuckin'…" America trailed off and quieted down. He gazed at Russia, his eyes holding surprise and hope of something else. "You're…not?"

"I'm tired of watching you too." Russia whispered, leaning closer, giving into the feelings he normally kept locked away. "I'm tired of watching your back, watching you walk away."

America blinked, his red eyes glassy, his cheeks flushed from the alcohol, the tear stains, and _something else_.

"You…you are?"

"I'm tired of pretending."

"I…am too." America breathed.

Russia finally lowered himself to his knees, his legs, already exhausted from working all day, burned from crouching for the prolonged period. America finally realized his hands were still planted on Russia's chest. He let them fall away, only to have his fingers curl around Russia's forearms.

"I like you." America blurted suddenly. "I want to be with you."

Russia finally allowed a tiny smile, the edges of his mouth curling upward. His violet eyes softened, the previous angry frustration melting away.

"I like you too."

"You do?" America breathed, surprise tinting his voice, his blue eyes still holding the thick, clouded, glaze of alcohol.

"I don't want to be alone anymore." Russia whispered. "Will you stay with me?"

"I will." America answered instantly. "Because I don' want to… watch you anymore. Because…I don' want to be alone anymore."

Russia moved his arms from America's shoulders, gripped his waist and suddenly slung him over his shoulder.

"Good, because I'm exhausted and I want to sleep." Russia stated, and quickly added. "And I want to sleep beside you."

"Really?" America questioned again, seeming unable to take everything in all at once.

"But if you throw up, I'm going to be very angry with you." Russia admitted. "And you will be the one washing my sheets."

"I won't throw up." America promised. "I never throw up. Not even when I eat England's food."

"True." Russia allowed, and finally crested the stairs, entered his room and slung America from over his shoulder and into the mattress. He took the time to take America's glasses off, having an inkling of how much they meant to him, and stepped around to bed to the opposite side, kicking his boots off, and collapsing into the bed. America immediately slid over and curled himself around him.

"You're warm." America sighed into Russia's chest. "House…'s fuckin' cold."

Russia let America cuddle him and stared at the ceiling.

"… will you remember what happened tonight?"

Russia let his arm curl around America, who was now snoring into his chest.

_I hope you do_.


	4. Chapter 4

**Comfortably Numb**  
**By: Verin Mystal  
Summary: **America has gotten drunk. The problem? He gets really uncontrollable with his physical strength. Those with him decide to lay this problem on the only one who can physically control him: Russia. Who wasn't even in their little drunken party.  
**Note:** Written for the Kinkmeme at LiveJournal. Also, mature themes/language in this chapter. Nothing too detailed though.

* * *

Light filled his vision. Piercing, blinding, scathing sunlight burning into his retinas. Pulsating pain throbbed in his head with such force it brought a hoarse moan to his throat.

"Uggggghhhnnn…" America curled over and buried his face into the pillow. "Mnn…hangover… what the fuck did I drink last night…?"

America stretched, his toes curling in pleasure as his joints popped, muscles tensed and relaxed. Yawning deeply, he smacked his lips and winced at his morning breath.

"Jesus…" Another yawn came, and he slowly sat up and started putting priorities in order. "…Glasses."

He reached around for them blindly, until he found them perched delicately on the end table beside the opposite edge of the bed. Sliding them into place, he closed his eyes for a moment, rubbing at his aching temples before reopening his eyes again. A strange room stared back at him. Blinking, he surveyed his surroundings, his lips parted in an expression of bewilderment.

The events of last night slammed into his consciousness, and he remembered the long car ride with England, Prussia and France, laying on Russia's porch, being dragged inside, arguing with him and teasing and professing his desires and longing and Russia telling him his own desires and…and…

"Oh my god."

* * *

America sat on the edge of his- no, _Russia's_- bed and chewed his fingernails.

He was still fully dressed, save for his shoes that got lost during the long car ride. Raking his fingers through his tangled hair brought no relief. He'd gone drinking with England and France and Prussia…and things got fuzzy after drinking that last shot Prussia shoved into his face, _probably something mixed that would give a normal human alcohol poisoning_, but then…they'd dumped him off with Russia. And he'd told him everything. **Everything**.

His face crumpled and he hid himself in his hands, his nose and glasses jabbing the palms of his hands.

"Fuck…_fuck_."

He knew he had to face him. He had to go downstairs and have that awkward conversation everyone had after a night of drinking and waking up in someone else's bed. _We didn't do anything…right? Fuck I hope we didn't do anything…_

It's not like he didn't like Russia. He did…very much so. He found him physically attractive…even sexy, in a masculine sort of way. Lord knows that deep, accented voice of his sent shivers down his spine whenever he got particularly vocal at one of the many political meetings they attended. But… he wanted to wait until the moment was right for something like that… he wanted it to _mean_ something. Which was stupid and naive, but deep down he was a hopeless romantic. But… he knew his feelings went deeper than than sheer physical lust, now.

There had been many lonely nights spent nursing the whiskey bottle he kept hidden under his bed during the last few decades. Wishing for something that could possibly never happen. Waiting for Russia's gaze to be turned away so he could openly stare with longing, raking his eyes over Russia's soft, pale features… and after a while... he'd tried thinking of what Russia was _really_ like. Sure he knew him politically…he knew _some_ of his history… he knew Russia loved astronomy almost as much as he did… but… who was he, as a person? Who was **Ivan**? Would he enjoy long walks in central park? Playing video games? Watching scary movies with him, so he wouldn't be scared and alone? Would he stay with him afterword's to keep the ghosts away? Would Russia take him to his famous cities, show what he loved doing in his spare time, his favorite sports and hobbies? Would he enjoy just sitting together and talking… about anything and everything?

He thought of Russia's words last night. The things he did…the things he said…

_"I'm tired of pretending."_

America walked into the bathroom and stared at his face in the mirror.

_"I don't want to be alone anymore."_

Sighing, he turned the water faucet on and doused his face in cold water. Gasping, he raked his wet fingers through his hair, turning it damp. It looked better…somewhat.

_I have to go down there._ He gripped the edge of the counter and bit his bottom lip. _I have to. I __**have**__ too._

Breathing in a deep breath, he straightened and glared at himself. _What the fuck am I doing?_ He pinched himself and shook the sleep from his arms. _I'm the fucking United States of America, I can't be afraid of something like this!_ He nodded at his reflection and planted his hands on his hips. _Right. I'll show him._

And with that, he walked from the bathroom, exited the room and started down the stairs. Reaching the bottom in record timing, he turned the corner and stepped into the kitchen when he was presented with Russia sitting at the dining table eating breakfast and drinking some kind of caffeinated beverage – which was probably tea, as he could smell that pungent odor a mile away – and suddenly his legs locked up, his chest tightened and he staggered backwards around the corner and pressed himself to the wall, clutching his chest and damning his weak determination and Russia's ability to leave him utterly breathless and stupid in the head.

Taking a moment to recover, America pressed a palm to his forehead and strangled down a self-depreciating sigh.

_Fuck me… what the hell am I doing?_ He could already hear his brother complaining about his hopeless feelings and how he could never act on them and never vocalize his true intentions correctly – hell, he _still_ struggled with political speaking – but by god, throw him on a scientific and/or military setting and he knew exactly what to do, what to say, utterly focused and engaged. But, put him in the same room with the nation he's pined after for nearly a century and suddenly he came down with what England lovingly called _foot-in-mouth-syndrome_.

_No._ America frowned. _This is stupid. I can't keep doing this! I already told him last night…that I liked him…had feelings for him…and he felt the same! I can do this, god damnit._

Taking a deep, reassuring breath, he turned on his heel and entered the kitchen. Russia held a tea cup half way to his mouth when he paused suddenly and turned to face America. Something flickered behind his violet gaze..

"You finally woke up."

America could do nothing but nod silently and clutch the edge of the kitchen counter.

Russia peered at him, his eyes narrowing. "Do you…remember anything?"

"Uh…yeah." America managed, his face turning red despite his best intentions. "I remember everything."

Something flickered behind his violet gaze, and he set the tea cup back down. "You remember what we spoke of?"

The blush finally came, blood rushing to his face, turning his skin scarlet. Russia noticed, the corners of his mouth tugging upward.

"Yes…uh…I remember and…um…" America's voice died away when Russia suddenly stood up and crossed the room to stand before him.

Slowly, gently, Russia raised his right hand and pressed two fingers to his cheek and rubbed his thumb across the burning skin. The touch was soft, cautious, curious and wondering all at once. America stared at Russia, unable to tear his eyes away from the others piercing violet stare. They stood before one another, quiet and staring at each other until Russia pulled away.

"Good."

And Russia stepped away with a tiny smirk on his face, moving back to sit at the table and resume eating his breakfast.

"There is instant coffee in the cupboard above the stove." Was all Russia said before bringing the tea cup back to his lips. "Use the hot water from the kettle."

America gripped the edge of the counter, forced himself to breath and tried not to pass out.

Seconds passed, and America forced his legs into action. Coffee. The taste of coffee blacker than the depths of space itself would help. A wave of relief flowed through him, and he stepped towards the stove, finding an empty blue coffee cup already sitting on the counter. Unable to help the goofy smile that appeared on his face at the thought of Russia being thoughtful and leaving it out for him, he dumped some instant coffee into the cup and poured the water, stirring until it was entirely dissolved and moved back to the table, clutching the hot porcelain cup as if it were his lifeline. Staring into the black depths, he inhaled the bitter, black, dark scent of exotic instant coffee and sucked in a mouthful, savoring the exquisite taste before swallowing. Sighing, he licked his lips and blinked at his cup blearily.

"You do not drink tea?" Russia inquired, his voice breaking the peaceful reverie America was lulled into.

Clenching the cup in surprise, America met Russia's questioning stare.

"Not since I dumped 45 tons of it into the Boston Harbor." America couldn't help but smirk at the memory. "Seeing England's face the next morning was _so_ worth it."

Russia hummed and stared at him over his tea cup.

"So…do you drink coffee too?" America asked, taking another deep swallow of the stuff.

"Sometimes," Russia started, taking a silent sip of his tea before setting the cup back down to the table. "…but only if I see you drinking it."

America blushed then, and set the porcelain cup back down before he crushed it in his hands on accident.

"Russia…" America started, his cheeks burning. "Are we…uh… together? Now?"

The elder nation smiled then, and America found himself twisting a spoon around his fingers as if it were a piece of modeling clay.

"Do you _want_ to be _together_?"

America stared at Russia, and thought of them at meetings and in public, together, where others might see him, might think of him as attractive despite the scary shudder he gave most people and felt a possessive wave rush through him. Without a second thought, America looked at Russia straight in the eye and clenched the twisted spoon in his hands.

"Yes."

* * *

Three Months Later

It turned out that after America got over his initial shyness, he was actually quite forward and uncaring of the public with his displays of affection. Russia was far more reserved, and preferred if the _public displays of affection_ were left for other times, especially if they were at a meeting with other nations. But being young and enthusiastic and still having the hormones of a teenager since, considering he was still physically nineteen, made the idea of _control_ and _saving it for later_ a difficult concept to grasp.

Which was how America found himself playing footsie with an _unresponding_ Russia during a meeting of the G8 nations. It was a more intimate setting, a single, albeit long table set up in a small room, the other nations huddled together on the table while Germany stood at the podium lecturing on climate change…or something. America scribbled the topic on the power point slides Germany printed, so he could always look over them later. Keeping his stare on Germany, he toed off his leather dress shoe and slid his sock-covered toe up Russia's leg.

The elder nation stiffened and after a moment of recovery, used his other foot to push America's foot away.

Not being one to give up so easily, America returned to Russia's leg, this time dragging his toe up Russia's calf, past his knee, to his inner thigh. America watched out of the corner of his eye as Russia shifted in his chair, twisting his back to make sure others would think the shifting came from the uncomfortable chairs than America feeling him up with his foot. Squeezing his thighs together, Russia used his knees to push America away, only to have the foot return, sliding up his inner thigh once more, moving higher and higher until they pressed to his crotch and dug his toes into him, rubbing and kneading and–

Russia jerked away and smashed his pen to the desk, snapping the plastic container in half and spilling ink all over his notes.

The room went dead silent.

Russia glowered at his ruined notes and the air temperature turned frigid. Everyone edged away from Russia.

"All in favor of ending the meeting 30 minutes early?" America asked, Russia's glower not bothering him in the least, and turned to Germany.

Every hand went into the air, save for Germany, who merely cradled his head in his hands and sighed, weakly flicking his hand at them all in a silent gesture of _why do I even bother trying_?

Everyone fled the room, America in the lead and Russia stalking after him, his ruined notes stuffed into the briefcase he clutched. America made it across the street to the hotel lobby and into the elevator at a run, jabbing his finger at the _closed door_ button only to have Russia grip the elevator doors, forcing them apart to jump inside. America squeaked in surprise and shrank into the corner, only to be slammed into the wall and thoroughly _molested_ until they reached their floor, separating only for a moment before the two tumbled into America's– no, Russia's? –hotel room. Russia slammed the door shut behind him, not bothering to lock it before shoving America to the bed, devouring him with his mouth, and fucking him into the mattress until America came too soon again, leaving Russia behind to finish.

They lay together, basking in the afterglow as America cuddled around him and pressed those warm, delicate kisses on Russia's chest, shoulder, neck and finally Russia gave into the sweet temptation and met those kisses he loved so much, but would go to the grave before admitting it, with one of his own. Parting with a content sigh, America curled around Russia and rested his face on his chest.

"…Ivan?"

Russia hummed, his eyes already closed as he curled an arm around America to touch his broad backside.

"Sorry… about your notes." America turned his face up to stare at him. "I'll copy mine for you…okay?"

Russia hummed again, only this time it was incoherent with sleep. A snore soon escaped his lips, and America returned to cuddling him, smiling into his rumbling chest.

Russia awoke early next morning, finding America sprawled haphazardly beside him and snoring into his pillow. Turning over, he pressed a sleepy kiss to the back of the younger nation's neck before sleepily standing up, stretching for a moment. Yawning, he walked around the bed, but paused suddenly at the table near the television set. His briefcase was open, and inside was a stack of notes, all written in the messy, curling and looping handwriting of America's. He blinked at it blearily until it dawned on him.

Smiling, he ran his fingers across the papers appreciatively before he snapped his briefcase closed and after a moment of indecision, returned to bed, so he could secretly cuddle America before the young nation awoke.


	5. Chapter 5

**Comfortably Numb**  
**By: Verin Mystal  
Summary: **America has gotten drunk. The problem? He gets really uncontrollable with his physical strength. Those with him decide to lay this problem on the only one who can physically control him: Russia. Who wasn't even in their little drunken party.  
**Note:** Written for the Kinkmeme at LiveJournal.

* * *

**(Epilogue)**

One Year Later/Early Spring

"And _then_… he said- 'I may be drunk, but in the morning I will be sober…and you will still be ugly.'" England fell into a throaty laughter. "And oh god– America's **face**-"

"…Oui-oui, I have heard this story before." France sniffed and poured himself another glass of red wine. "You tell it every time you drink-"

"Belt up **frog**." England slapped his glass to the counter and waved at the bar tender for another Guinness. "I'm not done _telling the story_ yet."

"You pussies. I got one even better. Back in 13'- when Bräurosl was put up-"

"I thought I told you never to speak of that again."

"Aww _West_-" Prussia groaned and leaned over. "Remember when you woke up naked with your hands tied to the bathtub faucet and-"

Germany gripped his beer and glared into the opposite wall.

"Never. Again."

"Wait-_wait_…you woke up in the **bath tub**?" America asked, his smile huge and eyes incredulous. "Naked?"

"From the waist down." Prussia snorted from behind his pint. "And his head was half-shaved-"

America fell into hysterical giggles. Russia smirked and poured another shot of vodka.

"It took three months for your hair to grow back, didn't it?" France asked breezily. "I remember. I offered to do your hair."

"This conversation is over."

Germany slapped a few bills on the counter and stood up.

"Aww come on west, don't be like _that_- you can't leave now~…" Prussia pleaded. "I need you to pay my tab."

Germany glared at him. "Is that the only reason why you invited me!"

Prussia pursed his lips and blinked innocently.

"…No."

Germany turned around and left the pub.

"Wait- West-!"

Prussia downed the rest of his beer and ran over him, nearly tripping over his own feet. Germany whirled on him and grabbed him by the front of the shirt.

"You still owe me for breaking the door handle **and **_**frame**_ of my 1954 Mercedes-Benz 300s Roadster! And now you want me to pay off your tab!"

"But that was America not _me_-"

"You're the one who drove."

"But-"

"Ahhhh." Russia perked up suddenly and twisted around on his bar stool. "So _you_ were the one solely responsible for dumping America on my front porch. I assumed it was a group effort."

"It was all Prussia's idea." France and England stated at exactly the same time.

"Hey! West _please_-"

"Yeah! I froze my ass off!" America shouted. "I didn't even have _shoes_ on."

"That's not my fault!" Prussia jabbed a finger in the air at him. "You tried flushing them down the toilet."

"You left me to freeze to death on Russia's porch." America insisted, leaning into Russia's shoulder and breathing into his ear. "I was turning blue and shivering."

Russia glowered at Prussia, violet eyes seething.

"B-bullshit!" Prussia back pedaled and hid behind Germany. "You were on that porch for what- 5 minutes?"

"Thirty." America twirled his empty beer bottle, pleasantly adding fire to Russia's slowly growing temper. "And I was going into the first stage of hypothermia and-"

Prussia grabbed Germany's shoulders and dragged him from the building, the door slamming shut behind them.

"Awwww." America pouted and turned back to the counter, signaling for another beer. His fun ended now that Prussia left.

Russia also turned back, but grabbed a fork from the dinner they ate previously and started carving into the counter. France and England edged away nervously.

Without pause, America gently tugged the fork from his hand, leaned his head on Russia's shoulder, and poured more vodka into Russia's glass.

"Drink up~ I'll pay for this bottle."

"Hmm…" Russia rubbed circles into his right temple. "…Fine."

America smiled and popped the cap off his beer.

England and France gawked openly.

Music from outside started thudding into the windows noisily, the window frames rattling with each booming beat from overpowered sub-woofers outside. Distant shouting came from outside, following by obnoxious laughter.

"That better not be fucking Prussia." England slurred, sipping his Guinness. "He knows I hate that bloody techno _shite_."

France rubbed the rim of his wine glass. "Yes, you always _have_ liked that ear-splitting garbage-"

"Don't you call the Sex Pistols garbage!" England shouted, and hiccupped suddenly. "You wouldn't know good music if it fucking _hit you in the face_."

France sniffed and sipped his wine.

America chugged his beer, wiggling in his seat happily while Russia sighed and rubbed at his temples. Noticing Russia's distress, America ending the chugging session with a gasp and slapped his beer to the counter. Hiccupping, he shook his head and breathed deeply before leaning over to peer at Russia with glazed eyes.

"Something wrong?"

Russia hummed and winced at a particularly loud booming from outside. Distant shouting followed.

"…Headache."

America stared at him for a long moment before turning to his beer, raising it to his lips and chugging the remains down his throat. Finishing with a gasp, he slammed the beer to the counter and stood up suddenly.

England, France and Russia peered at him in surprise.

America wiped the excess beer from his lips with the back of his hand, wiped said hand on his cream dress shirt, staggered across the bar and through the door, slamming it shut. The window of the door cracked.

"…Should we warn them?" France asked breezily.

England snorted, stood up and nearly fell on his ass, clutching the edge of the bar counter for support.

"No."

America staggered across the parking lot to a modern Mercedes-benz car. Germany stood outside the driver's window, shouting in German at his brother and pounding on the car door, who had the windows cracked and the stereo blasting techno with a woman singing in german.

"Hey-…**hey**!" America shouted over the music. "I need you to turn it off."

Germany turned to him and with an angry wave of his hand, pointed to Prussia, who smirked and waved at America. Shit-eating grin firmly in place.

America gently pushed Germany away, gripped the door with both hands, and promptly tore the door off its frame. Germany made a gasping, choking sound. Prussia stared, open mouthed. Tossing the door away as if it were a piece of tin foil, America leaned into the cab, balled his hand into a fist, and, slammed it into the stereo, his fist sinking into the dashboard up to his elbow. The music abruptly ended. Sweet, golden silence prevailed. America pulled away, tugged his wallet free and shoved his insurance card into Germany's chest.

Germany took it, his mouth parted, his face pale.

"You were giving my _boyfriend_ a headache." America says with a deathly sweet smile at Prussia. Then he turns back to Germany, his face turning sincere. "I'll pay for a rental and the total damages."

He then turned and stumbled across the parking lot, reentering the bar.

Germany stared at the insurance card for a long moment before withdrawing a brick-sized cellphone and dialing the number on the card America gave him.

Prussia sat in the driver's seat, staring at the deep hole America punched through the dashboard.

"Remind me to never do anything to Russia again."

* * *

America slid back onto the bar stool, ignoring the suspicious stares France and England were sending him, and leaned into Russia's face.

"..Better?" America purred into Russia's ear, kissing the outer shell. "No more headache, right?"

Russia hummed and leaned into America's face, closing his eyelids in bliss from the golden silence.

France stared open mouthed at the two and leaned into whisper in England's ear.

"I never knew America was so possessive and… _protective_."

England snorted into his Guinness.

"You have no idea."

* * *

**~~(END)~~**

* * *

Notes: [From wikipedia]

**I may be drunk, (Miss), but in the morning I will be sober…and you will still be ugly.** – Quote from Winston Churchill. I omitted the Miss.

**1913/Braurosl** - In 1913, the Bräurosl was founded, which was the largest Oktoberfest beer tent of all time, with room for about 12,000 guests.

**Title reference** - Comfortably Numb is the name of an awesome(!) song by Pink Floyd. Every time I listen to it, I'm reminded of Russia and America.


End file.
